Do black women work out?Shedding stereotypes

Kimmie Richardson of Jackson says that gastric bypass surgery helped her shed excess weight, but it was a passion for healthy diet and exercise that got her where she is today. She is now a certified personal trainer and fitness instructor.(Photo: Joe Ellis/The Clarion-Ledger, Joe Ellis/The Clarion-Ledger)

“That’s not true!” I snarled. My face contorted into an expression of loathing. I had been sitting on my parent’s front porch with some of my old high school classmates — most of them males. A lively conversation down memory lane had somehow made a left turn into an assumption that black women did not work out.

Their opinion bothered me. I knew plenty of black women who worked out — why didn’t they?

John Arterberry, a certified and International Federation of Body Builders professional trainer, believes the idea that black women do not work out is just perpetuating stereotypes. “In the competitive world, I know many black women who work out. Plus 90 percent of my female clients are African-American,” he said.

I then stumbled across an article “Black Women and Fat” by Alice Randall in which she states: “Too many experts who are involved in the discussion of obesity don’t understand something crucial about black women and fat: Many black women are fat because we want to be.”

Evidently, Randall didn’t know any black women who worked out either. She definitely was not speaking on behalf of women like Kimmie Richardson, 34, owner of Rich Fitness.

“Most people are obese for a multitude of reasons, ranging from ignorance to mental illness but few seek it as a desirable state of being,” Richardson said.

She admits that, after a variety of diets and exercise trials, she opted for the Roux En Y Gastric Bypass. Despite the push from cosmetic assistance, however, Richardson worked hard for her total 80-pound weight loss.

“After recovering from surgery and losing 40 pounds of excess weight, I realized I was still overweight — actually obese. So with a little confidence from my 40-pound drop, I joined the local YMCA and became a two- to three-hour, six-days-a-week gym rat,” Richardson said.

Ashley Ficklin, 31, who at her heaviest weighed 315 pounds, to date has lost 160 pounds. While Ficklin disagrees with Randall, she believes women from other cultures were faster to tap into the idea of exercise as a preventive measure.

“If weight has never been an issue, we don’t find the need to work out. Once we gain weight, we say I’m thick, I like myself. It’s a thin line between being healthy, being thick and being obese. Other women of different ethnicities work out regardless of their size,” Ficklin said.

In her New York Times article, Randall states “How many white girls in the ’60s grew up praying for fat thighs? I know I did.”

Randall’s statement is reflective of what seems to be the systematic belief that the black community prefers women who are more voluptuous.

“We’ve always had fuller figures, we are the nurturers and caregivers,” Ficklin says. “Food has always been a way to show love in our community, so mothers and grandmothers always want to feed you. So from music and history there is pressure for black women to have fuller figures.”

Nonetheless, being “thick” should not automatically equate to a lack of exercise or unhealthy eating habits.

Richardson and Ficklin say they eventually buckled from the pressure of being overweight and decided to make a change.

“I felt like I couldn’t be myself, and I was hiding behind my weight,” says Ficklin, who began walking 30 minutes a day and incorporated water into her diet, something she had never done. Borderline diabetes and high blood pressure also propelled her to the gym.

Richardson, who began a diet of fish, chicken, vegetables and fruit, believed her happiness was impacted by how big or how small she was.

But pounds were not Ficklin’s only obstacle. “Once I lost 100 pounds, I realized none of my problems just go away in life. If you’ve always been bigger, you seem to think life will be different when you’re smaller. But just accepting life is what it is, no matter what size I am, and learning to love myself has been the most difficult part. I realized the weight was just another excuse for me not to reach my full potential,” she says.

Weight loss also had its advantages for Ficklin. “Once I was able to get out of the plus-size section — that was everything to me.”

Ficklin also learned she was stronger than she could have fathomed, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally.

Richardson recalls her most successful moment as being mistaken for a fitness instructor. “I felt the greatest amount of success in my journey was when I was approached to teach group fitness classes. The thought that anyone looked at me and thought I could help them was an amazing feeling and accomplishment. Still is actually,” she says.

Rich Fitness, Richardson’s home-based personal training business, was born as a result of her weight loss. “Rich Fitness was initially created as a Facebook page ... with time it evolved into an amazing new career and dream come true,” she says.

Ficklin, mother of a 9-year-old, was also approached to become an instructor by a manager at her gym, Quest Fitness. With little convincing, she became certified in Zumba, a fitness program that incorporates dance and aerobic elements.

The women say their self-image changed along with their weight loss. “Initially I saw myself as just a motivated individual. Just an average person who felt determined. Now I feel so empowered. Before I was looking for a leader but now I am looking for folks to be led,” Richardson says.

Rachel James Terry is a graduate of The Clarion-Ledger’s Jackson Voices program. To contact her, email racheljamezz76@yahoo.com.